


no amortentia needed

by euphemea



Series: slithered spells and lion's maw [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Valentine's date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-01-27 08:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21389179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea
Summary: Felix, on the other hand, has always been exceedingly dense when it comes to matters of the heart. Even, apparently, when Sylvain’s already made a point of planning a Hogsmeade outing for just the two of them. Felix had clearly received the message that it was supposed to just be the two of them since he’d turned down Ingrid’s invitation, and yet. Her two idiotic best friends still hadn’t managed to wrangle themselves into an actual relationship.aka, Felix Fraldarius and the Hogsmeade Date.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: slithered spells and lion's maw [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662478
Comments: 49
Kudos: 266





	1. another hogsmeade trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to abacus and [neon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonbees/pseuds/neonbees) for helping me beta this chapter! 
> 
> i know Sylvain isn't in this chapter, but he'll saunter in sooner or later because this fic is very sylvix. (i'm not sure if this chapter count is going to be 2 or 3, but we'll see what feels better?)

It’s suspicious how insistently Felix turns down Ingrid’s invitation to go the village on the Hogsmeade weekend. 

Well, sort of. 

Granted, it is very Felix-like to call the excursion a waste of time (which Felix had done). It’s also unsurprising that he turn his nose up in disgust at the mention of sweets (which Felix had _also_ done). And it’s far from out of character for Felix to grumble about the fact that he could see them any old time and that it didn’t need to be in Hogsmeade (which Felix had begun to say, only to be cut off when Ingrid pointed out that he didn’t enjoy being cooped up in the castle any more than she did, and everyone knew it with how agitated he’d been lately). 

So really, the surliness isn’t unexpected. 

But it’s rare that he can’t be cajoled into tagging along by Annette. 

Unlike Felix, Annette is (of course) absolutely thrilled by the prospect of sweets and butterbeer and enamored with the chance to wander through the village with friends, already planning their path flitting from store to store. It’s the same thing they’ve done for years, but it never fails to elate the Hufflepuff sixth-year, her joy ridiculously infectious and her presence enlivening the trip for all their friends. Annette bubbles with excitement at the thought of Hogsmeade plans, her pleased humming vibrating through her body as she slides her arms around Ingrid’s shoulders in a quick greeting hug before clambering onto the bench to take a seat beside her. 

She animatedly echoes Ingrid’s question, fully expecting to change Felix’s mind (and it will never stop being mildly offensive how Felix listens to Annette without a word while also blankly refusing all other cooperation, including with long-suffering friends). Felix grunts out another refusal, adamantly refusing to meet their eyes, staring instead at his breakfast plate as though willing it to combust as a distraction.

Ingrid raises an eyebrow, Annette pouting slightly beside her. Felix chances a quick glance at them and huffs at their unimpressed expressions. His dour refusal sounds even brattier next to Annette’s sunny enthusiasm, but then again, it always does.

Oh, darling, sweet Annette, whose cheerfulness can warm any heart, even that of a certain caustic, grumpy, loudmouth, Defense Against the Dark Arts-obsessed, seventh-year Gryffindor. Felix, ever the aspiring asshole Kneazle-wannabe, is always resolutely determined to feign stoicism and indifference, but he inevitably still melts when faced with her joyful singing and silly invented spells. As far as Ingrid is concerned, Annette's ability to get Felix to behave is a gift from Merlin himself.

Ingrid levels him a flat look over her bacon. “We’ve been to Hogsmeade together every free weekend since the beginning of fifth year.”

“What?” Felix makes a mildly affronted noise and shoves a sausage into his mouth. “It’s the same two streets and dozen shops, I’m not allowed to get bored or have better things to do?” 

His expression softens infinitesimally as he stares at the eggs on his plate. “Don’t worry about me, I have my own plans.”

“Practicing hexes and curses or flying in circles around the Quidditch pitch are not ‘better things’ than spending time with your friends.” Ingrid says, rolling her eyes and lightly waving a fried potato wedge at Felix. “I mean, I’m normally all for studying and training to prepare for NEWTs or job applications, but we’ve been trapped in the castle since Christmas break and I’m going to go stir-crazy if I don’t get away for at least a day. And don’t lie to me, you’ve been getting irritable from being locked up too.”

Annette props her elbows on the table, her expression deceptively angelic as she leans in to give Felix a knowing look, a small, teasing smile tilting the corners of her lips. 

“I do wonder what your ‘own plans’ are, Felix.” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe someone coming to visit?”

Felix chokes on a bit of bacon. A lazy swish of her wand has Felix glowering, eyes watering, Annette lightly giggling at his embarrassment. 

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating,” he grits out as he swallows down another large gulp of water to soothe his irritated throat, his clear glass an anomaly next to all the others of pumpkin juice (the house elves had long been instructed to provide Felix with water lest he dehydrate himself in his refusal of the castle’s typical sweet drinks). 

Ingrid bites back a laugh of her own at his antics. Some things really never change. Felix is still as easy as ever to get a rise out of.

Felix rolls his eyes, plainly irritated by her mirth.

He takes a sighing breath, tilting his head up to blink at the floating candles above them, unlit in the daytime. “I don’t know if he told you, but Sylvain’s promised to visit next Hogsmeade weekend.”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow, fork and knife paused where she had been cutting another sausage. 

Sylvain most certainly had not bothered to inform her, nor any of their other friends as far as she knows. Disappointing, but not surprising. Sylvain can be incredibly single-minded when it comes to Felix. It’s not that he’s neglectful of his other friends, but he certainly prioritizes Felix’s needs and desires far above everyone else’s, including his own. 

Felix, on the other hand, has always been exceedingly dense when it comes to matters of the heart. Even, apparently, when Sylvain’s already made a point of planning a Hogsmeade outing for just the two of them. Felix had clearly received the message that it was supposed to just be the two of them since he’d turned down Ingrid’s invitation, and yet. Her two idiotic best friends still hadn’t managed to wrangle themselves into an actual relationship. 

It’s been an exhausting two years since Sylvain’s graduation watching Felix fret while pretending not to miss Sylvain; his denials only get more and more outlandish every time he’s caught searching the Slytherin table for a familiar face that’s no longer there. As for Sylvain, he only occasionally remembers to write Ingrid, and even then it’s only to ask if she can help get him back into Felix’s good graces after his latest misstep. 

Ingrid is so tired. Most of their other friends think it’s hilarious, but they’re not the ones these two turn to when they need someone to distract them or whine to. There’s a betting pool running on when they’ll finally get together — Dimitri had tried to put his foot down, but had instead found himself cajoled into throwing in two Galleons of his own by Claude.

Annette's eyes glitter. “Felix has a date~” she singsongs, grinning at him as he splutters. 

“It’s — it’s not a d—” Ingrid and Annette throw him identical disappointed looks. “It’s _not_!” 

Felix’s face is fully flushed, embarrassed that he’s once again talking about his not-quite-relationship with Sylvain. Only the third time this week he’s been teased about it. Probably? Ingrid can’t keep track of all of his conversations with Ashe and Annette, and it’s hard to tell whether they’re teasing or just being encouraging sometimes. 

Felix mumbles unintelligibly at his nearly-empty plate.

“You’ll have to speak up if you want us to hear you,” Ingrid says with an amused smirk.

Felix clears his throat, eyes darting around the hall, desperate to avoid the further humiliation of their ribbing. “It’s almost Valentine’s Day.” 

Oh. Ingrid hadn’t actually considered that. It is, she supposes, just barely February now. The desperate rush of classes prepping seventh years for NEWTs has made her almost completely lose track of the date. 

Felix quickly shovels the remaining slices of bacon into his mouth, as though to prevent himself from spilling out any other silly, romantic notions. 

Annette brightens, slapping her hands against the table. “Ooh! Are you planning on giving Sylvain chocolates? Or maybe flowers! We’re a little too young for anything stronger than butterbeer, but you’re seventeen, so you could get him a nice firewhiskey… Hmm… Potions isn’t your strong suit, so love potions are out, but it’s not like you’d need one anyway… We could do your makeup… A little blush, some eyeliner… ” 

Annette’s voice trails off as she loses herself in daydreams about dolling Felix up for the perfect date. 

Clear, abject horror etches itself into Felix’s expression, and while Ingrid is definitely amused at Felix’s expense, some of Annette’s suggestions take it a little far. She’s never understood how love potions are legal, and she shudders to think of the times she’s had to drag Sylvain to find an antidote because he had been a little too willing to eat whatever food or drink the girls he had been flirting with that day gave him. 

“No love potions. I don’t want to be responsible for bailing you out for using questionable substances. Though, Annette’s right that you wouldn’t need anything, given how smitten Sylvain is. Chocolates or flowers would probably be a nice touch, though,” Ingrid says, biting her lip to keep a chuckle from escaping as Felix’s face glows impossibly warmer. Annette sighs dreamily, and both their gazes flicker over to her, still lost in her own thoughts and mutterings. 

Ingrid pushes her hair back and offers him a half-hearted shrug. 

“To be honest, I don’t know how much use I’ll be since romance and fashion aren’t exactly my thing, but… we can definitely help you with your date. Merlin knows if you two finally work it out I can actually have a life of my own.”

Felix puffs up, looking more like an aggravated black cat than ever. “It’s _not_ a d —”

“Valentine’s Day, just the two of you? It’s a date, Felix.” 

He stubbornly glares at her. She ignores him. Finishing her breakfast and letting him stew is a better use of her time, and Ingrid digs back into her potatoes. Annette zones back into the conversation, taking a fruit tart off the stack, blinking innocently at Felix.

It only takes a minute for Felix to crack.

“Okay, _fine_.” Felix rolls his eyes. “It’s a date. I’d like this to be a date.”

Annette cheers as the morning bell rings, calling them to their first classes.

Ingrid grins as she stands. “Well, then, Felix. Let’s get you a boyfriend.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i'm a sucker for harry potter aus and i hope i'm doing this one justice.
> 
> edit: you can retweet this fic [here](https://twitter.com/euphemeas/status/1197386072294150144)! i'm @euphemeas on twitter now.


	2. preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felix panics about Muggle makeup and Ingrid is the supportive friend he doesn't deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to abacus for the beta!
> 
> sylvain is in this one!! ...briefly.
> 
> this chapter is from felix's perspective, and the next will be from sylvain's. the perspective changes are the real reason this isn't a oneshot.

This is a mistake.

This is an absolute, fucking nightmare. An unforced error, if you will. A horrible, terrible blunder. This date and its preparation is quite possibly the biggest miscalculation of Felix’s nearly-eighteen years and he can’t believe he let Ingrid talk him into this.

“Merlin’s ancient fucking saggy balls, Annette, if that thing goes _in my eyeball_ and blinds me, I’m going to curse all of you into next week for talking me into this.” 

Annette draws back and puts her hands on her hips, black Muggle makeup stick-thing still dangerously uncovered and deceptively innocuous when not poised to take his eye out. Felix is quite keen on keeping pointy, foreign objects far, far away from his face and especially his eyes, thank you very much. He’s already had to sit through various liquids and powders being aggressively plastered all over his skin, making it feel heavy and foreign. This pointy eye-thing is going too far.

Circe only knows where she gets these things from. 

… Actually, no, no need to ask a legendary, long-dead sorceress. Annette probably gets them from Ashe, if Felix is being completely honest. The only Muggleborn in their group of friends — and a surprisingly stealthy one at that, as though almost to spite the Hufflepuff colours — Ashe is inevitably tied to most Muggle items that make their way past any Hogwarts mail inspection and into Annette’s hands. 

And if he really digs through his memory, Felix can vaguely recall eating a bland, meatless lunch and half-listening to Annette wax poetic to Ingrid about the wonders of Muggle makeup and how it could get past enchantments that banned or removed glamours and other magical beauty-enhancement trinkets and potions. Neither he nor Ingrid had been impressed at the time, but at least he hadn’t been expected to pay attention to her rambling, unlike Ingrid. Little did he know, that conversation taking place at all would eventually lead to this punishment.

Annette stares him down and Felix wilts slightly into his chair under the force of her frown. “Felix! You wanted our help getting ready for this date, so let us help you! You have to set up for the perfect confession scene, with the right lighting, atmosphere… Perfect outfits and glowing makeup…”

Oh no, Felix is losing her to fantasy again. 

Sylvain isn’t some fairytale prince from Ashe’s Muggle stories and Felix sure as hell isn’t a lovely maiden waiting at a ball or secluded castle to be wooed by him. It’s still fifty-fifty if Felix would rather hit Sylvain with a hex or pull him down for a kiss by the stupid, shapeless robes that he manages to make look unfairly sexy. 

If dates require this much fanfare and the danger of losing his sight to some Muggle beauty implement, he’d much rather call the whole thing off and just have a nice platonic visit and spend a few hours basking in Sylvain’s presence. It’s not as though Sylvain has ever shown any romantic interest in him (_shut up Ingrid, you’re wrong_), instead choosing to chat up every girl in sight and ridiculously showboating to them during Quidditch matches (admittedly, it had been funny when Sylvain had tried to flex his biceps — which Felix had definitely not stared at — and almost swerved into a goalpost to dodge an incoming Bludger that Ingrid absolutely hadn’t sent his way). 

They can just have a nice day together at Hogsmeade while Felix quietly dies inside, two steps and an ocean away from Sylvain. Just like always. He won’t stare at the way Sylvain’s perfect hair glitters brightly in the crisp air, falling gently in impeccable waves. Nor will he lose himself in Sylvain’s eyes, deep honeyed pools that draw him in and promise far more than his lips ever will. He won’t let himself drown in their blazing comfort, bright and hot like a well-aged firewhiskey, and —

Fuck, now he’s losing himself to fantasy too.

Willing the heat in the back of his neck and ears back down, Felix clears his throat pointedly. Annette snaps to attention.

“I’m very, er… _grateful_ for your help, Annette, but I really don’t think the risk of this Muggle ritual is necessary,” says Felix, his leg bouncing agitatedly as he very deliberately looks at the empty portrait of some dead wizard and his cat, pointedly talking to a spot over her shoulder. “Besides, for all that you and Ashe claim it’s just Muggle, it could be cursed or bewitched. You never know what creative means Dark Wizards will go to in order to hurt their enemies.”

That’s not true. It’s unquestionably just a Muggle object and not cursed in any way, because Felix had checked it with his standard set of curse-breaking and detection spells when Annette’s back was turned to organize the rest of the makeup, but she didn’t need to know that.

“If we _really_ have to do this, just Charm my face or something, don’t use a weird, Muggle ink stick that might permanently dye my skin or stab my eye out. There’s nothing wrong with a glamour or one of those weird skin potions you keep buying Ingrid for Christmas every year.”

Annette purses her lips and fixes him with her best Ingrid-glare. “Felix Hugo, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were _scared_ of the eyeliner.”

“Is that what it’s called? Stupid, literal, Muggle name,” Felix mutters. He scoffs in affront at the suggestion that he could be scared of a small, compact, Muggle item. “Anyway, why would I be scared? Nothing dangerous at all about an ink stick on its own, it’s just something that’s about to poke _my fucking eye out_.” 

“Don’t be a meanie, Felix. Do you trust me or not?” Annette pouts, lower lip trembling slightly and doe eyes widening as they always do when Felix has hurt her feelings. _Shit_. “I’m trying to help you get ready for your date and to be a supportive friend! Is that so wrong?” 

“No, I’m just… Whatever! Fine,” Felix acquiesces, because he’s out of options for pushing back against the questionably-violent Muggle eyeliner-thing if there’s even a chance that he’s upset Annette. “I do trust you, and I’m… _glad_… that you’re helping me get ready for this d-date. …Just don’t take my eye out, okay?”

“I do my own makeup every day, I think I’m capable of doing yours for just one. Or two, I suppose, since this is just a test run for Saturday.” Annette giggles gently, rolling her eyes affectionately at him as she raises the eyeliner. “Come on, sit up, no slouching! Tilt your head up a little, and look down without closing your eyes.”

Felix grimaces but complies, not quite sure he’ll ever be ready for Muggle beauty rituals. Sylvain better be fucking grateful.

* * *

Ingrid is very obviously and _very impudently _barely suppressing laughter.

Annette had run off yelling about a study session she was late to and some Herbology plants she had forgotten to water, leaving him here with an Ingrid who could barely hold herself back from mocking his made-up face. 

Felix is going to jinx her. Just as soon he gets all this product that Annette slathered onto his face off. She’d left some kind of single-use potion-soaked cloths that are apparently called “makeup remover towelettes”, if he could only remember where she’d put them so he can end his humiliation.

Maybe he can just _Scourgify_ his face clean.

“Wait — no! Felix.” Ingrid takes a moment bite back a snort, grabbing his arm as he stands, preventing him from storming off. “Sorry, it’s just different. You look good, truly. Here.”

She conjures a mirror with a quick wave of her wand and hands it to him.

A face very like his own stares back at him, the lines of his cheekbones and eyes sharper and more clearly defined, his normally-pale skin warmer and more lively, his pimple scars covered and smoothed over. Annette had mostly kept it simple and had clearly listened when he’d warned her against making him “pretty” like he’s one of Sylvain’s fawning fangirls.

It’s… not a bad look, really. A little different, and not something he’s used to, but he can see the appeal of hiding one’s visual blemishes. He’s never been one to care for his appearance, though he’s gotten the occasional compliment in the past about his “silky” hair and “striking” eyes, whatever people mean by that. Ingrid’s right that it’s different, but Felix kind of likes that he looks attentive, less sleep-deprived, a little older but also somehow less like Glenn.

Was this look worth sitting still and doll-like in that chair for nearly 45 minutes? Debatable, but it’s acceptable for making Saturday’s ..._visit_ special. He’ll have to remember to thank Annette later. Fuck if he knows whether Sylvain will notice or appreciate the difference, but it’s nice that his friends want to help him. Maybe the makeup will give him the confidence boost he needs to finally confess his feelings.

“It’s okay, I guess,” says Felix, dropping back into the seat across from Ingrid. She gives him a small, victorious grin, clearly also filing away the reaction to report to Annette later. Felix has rude friends who talk about him behind his back, whatever. 

“Sure, Felix.” Felix throws her a crude hand gesture in reply to her smug tone. Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Are you planning on getting Sylvain a gift? Flowers are always supposed to be romantic, especially red roses.” 

“I don’t need to ‘get’ flowers, I can just conjure them. And there’s nothing romantic about a bunch of dead plants anyway. They’ll just be gone in a few days even with magic sustaining them.” 

Ingrid shakes her head slightly. “Why did I know you were going to say that…? Come off it, Felix, there’s no reason to be so difficult. It’s just a nice gesture, and Sylvain will like it.”

Felix huffs. “Well, I don’t. Suggest something else.” 

“Are chocolates out too?” Ingrid asks with another roll of her eyes. “Let me guess, you don’t like sweets so it’ll offend your sensibilities to buy any or, Merlin forbid, _make some_ for him.”

Felix’s ears heat up as he distinctly tries not to remember the time he’d done that exact thing and attempted to make Sylvain chocolates (with the help of Glenn and the Fraldarius house elf, Nonny) many, many years ago. It hadn’t gone badly, per se, but the chocolate had seized in the middle of preparing the truffles, and Felix had maybe cried until Glenn helped him fix it while Nonny comforted him. Sylvain had eaten his portion (and most of Felix’s) with gusto, oblivious to any issues with the chocolate, thanking the three of them gap-toothed and cheerily, promising to bring the rest home for Miklan. 

Felix coughs awkwardly, bringing his hand up to cover his ugly blush. Ingrid throws him a curious look. Before Felix can deflect, a familiar shout breaks into their silent standoff.

Felix can’t tell if it’s his good fortune or a higher being cursing him that Dimitri chooses that moment to clamber in through the portrait hole, calling to them in their corner by the fire. He’s never really sure if Dimitri’s presence is a boon or not; the Head Boy’s social ineptitude is renowned and cringeworthy at the best of times, and the strength of his magic has always been wild and unwieldy, liable to turn small household severing charms into brutal spells that would break objects cleanly in half or undirected Summoning Charms into attempts to attract the whole room rather than a single object. 

Dimitri’s magic is a contentious point, and Felix’s wariness is far from unfounded. 

He’s never really forgiven Dimitri for that incident three years ago. Dimitri’s Firebolt had been in need of repair, so he had convinced Felix to take turns on the rickety school broom with him for their practices, only to almost immediately shatter Felix’s poor broomstick with his erratic magic and brute strength. 

(Glenn had found the story hilarious when Felix wrote him to complain. To this day, Felix hasn’t forgiven his brother for that reaction either.)

“Hello Felix. Ingrid. Would you care to join me for supper? And then perhaps after we can work on that troublesome Transfiguration assignment together.” Dimitri pauses to squint at Felix’s face. _Oh no_. Dimitri hesitates. “Did you… did something happen to your face, Felix? Er, not that you look injured or anything, just… ?”

Felix scoffs. “If you want to insult my face, boar, just say it.”

“Oh, ignore him,” Ingrid says crossly, slapping Felix’s knee lightly in reprimand. “Annette’s helping him with his makeup for his Hogsmeade date with Sylvain this Saturday. They’re doing a trial run today, which is why Felix looks a little different.”

Dimitri tilts his head thoughtfully, bringing his arms into his Deep Thinking Pose (Annette’s name for it, not Felix’s) as he examines Felix more closely. 

_Tch_. Felix looks away, discomfited by the scrutiny.

“I think she did a wonderful job. You should be sure to thank her later, Felix,” Dimitri says after a long moment.

Felix grunts. “I was already planning on it. I don’t need _you_ of all people to tell me how to be grateful.”

“Felix, for the umpteenth time, let it go.” He can almost hear Ingrid’s eye roll. “You need to stop hounding Dimitri about the broomstick. He bought you a new one that was better than Glenn’s old Nimbus. Also, and I know you know this, the broomstick mishap was _three years ago_.”

Turning away, she sighs heavily, clearly frustrated with their age-old disagreement. 

“While you have a moment, Dimitri, there’s something you can help with too. Felix needs to decide on a gift for Sylvain, and since he has no suggestions, he’s taking any assistance that he can get.” She gestures to the seat to Felix’s left and Dimitri nods, taking his place facing the other two. Felix pointedly clears his throat and leans away. “If it helps, Felix has so far rejected the notion of flowers as romantic.”

Dimitri frowns contemplatively. “I believe Sylvain likes board games, as Claude has mentioned that he and Sylvain used to play Wizard’s Chess in the Slytherin common room. Perhaps there are some new games you could send an owl order for. I could even help arrange a party to meet up to play together, if Sylvain would like to meet at the Three Broomsticks to do so.”

Dimitri has, once again, spectacularly missed the point. But before Felix can open his mouth to voice his displeasure at the suggestion to sacrifice his Sylvain time for something as trite as a group board game session, Ingrid throws him a look and kicks him. “That, er, sounds lovely, Dimitri, and I’m sure Sylvain would appreciate a new game, but I think it’s best if Felix choose a gift that he can give on his own. No distractions, or Felix might miss his chance _again_ to tell Sylvain that he’s been pining for him since the three of us were thirteen.”

Felix frowns. Ingrid really didn’t have to phrase it that way. 

“I see. Well, if it’s Valentine’s Day, I suppose you can’t go wrong with sweets, even if you don’t like them, Felix.” 

Ingrid hums her agreement. “They’re a little cliché, but they get the point across. We’ll see if Ashe can help us get some fancy Muggle chocolates by the end of the week, I remember him mentioning that Muggles have wicked-fast parcel delivery nowadays.” 

“Oi, don’t just decide for me.” Felix crosses his arms, absolutely not pouting at all. They stare at him for a beat, Ingrid quirking her eyebrow as though to point out that Felix hasn’t made any of his own ideas known, before he relents. “…But I suppose chocolates are fine. Just get the darker ones.”

Felix turns away, eyes fixated on a spot near the fire poker and resolutely not on his friends’ faces.

“And… thank you for helping me with this. I… appreciate it.”

The last words come out mumbled and garbled, but the expressions on Ingrid and Dimitri’s faces when Felix glances their way say they heard them anyway. Felix fidgets under the weight of their triumphant grins before standing abruptly. 

“Weren’t we about to get supper or something? I’m just going to… clean off this gunk first and we can go eat.”

* * *

The butterflies in Felix’s stomach flutter and quiver with every step he takes toward Hogsmeade, his hands itching to run through his carefully styled hair or rub away at Annette’s painstaking makeup work. The lurid, heart-shaped box chocolates in his arm is a weight that threatens to drag him into the ground, and the imagined whispers of gossip of the voices around them judge him for succumbing to romance tropes.

The temptation to bolt and hole up in the castle is waylaid only by Felix’s anticipation for seeing his best friend and long-time crush for the first time in nearly two months and by Ingrid’s placement directly behind him in their walk into the village to prevent him from doing just that. She really is the friend they don’t deserve, not that Felix will ever admit it.

He spots familiar red hair as they approach the village, Sylvain casually twirling his wand as he idles near the town’s gate. A wide, familiar, beaming smile breaks out when he spots them, his arm coming up to wave enthusiastically. Even packed in the middle of their group of friends, Felix can feel Sylvain’s gaze seeking his eyes alone, and though he knows the notion is ridiculous and wishful, it fills Felix with warmth.

Annette is the first to reach Sylvain, giving him a quick hug. 

“Looking lovely as always, Annette! I’ve missed having such charm and beauty in my life.” Annette giggles fondly as she waves Sylvain off to greet the next of their group, Sylvain’s wink as charismatic and ridiculous as ever.

Ashe is granted a quick one-armed hug and an easy ruffle of his hair. 

After him, Dimitri dances between a firm handshake and a full hug before Sylvain pulls in the younger and claps him on the back. “Good to see you, Dimitri.” 

Ingrid preempts Sylvain’s flirting with a light sock on the arm before leaning in to give him a warm squeeze. She whispers something in his ear that Felix doesn’t catch and Sylvain’s smile freezes briefly before he laughs the moment off. 

Sylvain murmurs back to her. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

As Sylvain turns toward Felix, his gaze warm and open, smile less wide and more honest, Felix’s heart stutters. After years, it should have long since learned to accept the way Sylvain’s expressions could pierce through the prickly walls Felix had created for himself and stop threatening to burst, but no. Somehow Felix and his stupid heart had never learned. 

Sylvain holds his arms open, a slight questioning quirk to his lips. 

Felix scoffs. “_Fine_.” 

He lets himself be wrapped tightly in Sylvain’s embrace, tension seeping out of his shoulders as he leans into the crook of Sylvain’s neck, free arm not holding the chocolate weakly coming up to clasp the back of Sylvain’s cloak, heart thundering in his ears. Felix is vaguely aware of Ingrid corralling their friends away to give them privacy somewhere behind him.

“Missed you, Fe,” Sylvain murmurs, arms tightening. 

_Me too_, Felix doesn’t say. Sylvain knows even without Felix giving voice to the thought.

“Have fun, lovebirds!” Felix stiffens at Ingrid’s teasing call. Sylvain laughs into Felix’s hair as the weight of what he’s supposed to say today comes crashing back into him.

Scratch everything he said about Ingrid being a great friend. She’s a terrible person and she’s going to regret embarrassing Felix if he can just make it through this date without combusting first.


	3. something's different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sylvain is incredibly, incredibly thirsty and their date goes about as well as can be expected for these two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Elliot [@scatteringmyashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes) for helping me beta this chapter!
> 
> I tried to use real Hogsmeade locations (that exist at least in the movie-verse even if that isn't really canon because there are like 5 book-verse store names) but there's one that I made up and is completely self-indulgent.

“Be gentle with him,” Ingrid breathes in Sylvain’s ear, pulling out of the hug with a sharp, pointed look.

A flicker of irritation flares through him. When _ isn’t _ he gentle with Felix? Sure, Sylvain will admit that he’s had his moments of insensitivity and absent callousness, lost in his own thoughts or jealous of the carefree attitudes of his non-Slytherin friends, but he has never done anything to actively hurt Felix’s feelings or endanger him. 

Sylvain has always loved Felix far too much for that.

Still, he accepts Ingrid’s warning. She’s well-meaning, if unnecessarily wary of Sylvain’s actions and intentions. Sylvain’s tone slips easily into bashful, graceless acquiescence. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

Ingrid fixes him with another stern look before turning back to their other friends. Sylvain’s eyes finally find Felix’s again and gentle warmth blooms through his chest, the tension from Ingrid’s harsh warning seeping away. 

He’s radiant. Not that Felix isn’t always beautiful, but there’s a careful, deliberate artistry in the makeup that adorns Felix’s face, his already cutting gaze bolder and more raw than ever, his cheeks just blushed to complement his easily embarrassed nature, lips lightly tinted and hopelessly kissable. His hair, too, is carefully crafted, tamed from its typical messy bun to present nothing but elegant poise and haughty arrogance, Felix’s exquisite dark locks carefully pulled back into a long ponytail that sits gracefully across his shoulder, tied with a dark blue satin ribbon that Sylvain has never seen before. Sylvain honestly can’t be certain that whoever dressed Felix for the day isn’t trying to murder him through sheer shock and joy.

Felix’s eyes widen slightly as Sylvain holds his arms open, waiting. 

After a long beat, Felix turns away, faint red tinging his cheeks as he lets out an aggravated noise. “_ Fine_.”

Sylvain’s grin widens, unrestrainable, as Felix falls into his arms, breath tickling against his neck. He can faintly feel the thudding of Felix’s heart against his own, both beats rabbiting wildly. Even with their weekly letters, Sylvain has desperately missed Felix, and the two months since he last saw him have been long, boring, and cold. The nearly three years since he graduated to being a proper adult have been much the same without Felix at his side, always there to tease and adore; the days run dull and monotonous, broken only by the occasional bright spots of Felix’s terse words in scratchy handwriting and even more rarely by the incandescent flame of Felix’s surly presence.

The temptation to press a gentle kiss to Felix’s temple washes over Sylvain, and he viciously beats it down. He ought to be grateful for the hug, not unnecessarily pushing at Felix’s boundaries. 

Annette’s giggle breaks through his reverie, Ingrid ushering the others toward the gate as she throws Sylvain a triumphant grin. He should be annoyed at her smugness, but he’s too busy indulging in this hug to care, and he tightens his arms around Felix in response. 

“Missed you, Fe,” Sylvain says quietly into Felix’s hair. If he hears an answering intake of breath or heavier grip from the hand pulling at his cloak, Sylvain carefully ignores them, allowing Felix his illusion of composure and aloofness.

“Have fun, lovebirds!” Ingrid’s call earns a chuckle from him, even as Felix tenses in his embrace. Sylvain rolls his eyes good-naturedly at her retreating back, but holds tight to Felix until he feels the him ease and settle in his arms.

They stand, wrapped in each other and the quietude of the moment, the passing noise of Hogwarts students making their way into the village muted and distant. Filtered laughter and the crunch of boots on snow pass them by, distantly echoing as though played through water; they stand immune and oblivious to the rest of the world, soaking in the simple joy of each others’ presence. Even with his neck starting to cramp under the strained angle of resting his head against Felix’s, Sylvain could just stand like this forever, just breathing in Felix’s clean, spiced scent.

Unfortunately for Sylvain, the public display of affection inevitably overwhelms Felix and he wriggles out of Sylvain’s arms, coughing to hide his discomfort. Sylvain carefully schools the disappointment from his features, smiling gently down at Felix and waiting for him to make the next move. If there’s anything that Sylvain has learned over the years, it’s that pushing too hard at Felix’s walls just makes him clam up and is the unavoidable “one step back” of their not-quite-romantic dance.

It doesn’t take long for Felix to resolve whatever inner turmoil is accosting him because he fidgets only briefly before stiffly offering the heart-shaped box he’s been holding to Sylvain, staring deliberately into the icy patch at his feet, cheeks tinged a darker red than Sylvain’s seen today. 

“For you,” Felix grunts out, the box’s contents rustling slightly as he emphasizes his words with a flick of his wrist. 

The fondness in Sylvain’s chest waxing impossibly warmer, he gently pries the gift from Felix’s grasp and clutches it to his chest. He has a suspicion as to what it contains, but he won’t press Felix on it here, still standing in the cold. 

“Thanks, Fe,” Sylvain says, tucking the box into one of his cloak’s wide pockets and nodding in the direction of the gate. He holds out his spare hand, unassuming and a little hopeful. He really shouldn’t pressure Felix too much for affection, but Sylvain has always been selfish and he wants, has wanted, so _ badly _ for so long. “Shall we go in?”

Felix stares, frozen, at Sylvain’s hand, suspended between them and tautening the rope of the moment, a dozen different emotions flitting across his face. Sylvain cringes internally. He’s done it now.

Fingers twitch briefly toward the offered hand before Felix gets a grasp on himself and shoves his fists into the pockets of his cloak, tsking sharply as he jerkily turns heel toward the gate. “Yeah, let’s go.” 

Sylvain represses a sigh as he quickly steps after Felix. The giftbox, the attention to appearance, Ingrid’s words, Felix’s willingness to let himself be hugged for as long as he had… too many things today had given Sylvain hope and brought forth the fervent desire he had buried. And now, as ever, he’s put his foot in it and scared Felix off. Again. 

The blossoming optimism that today might be special, different, meaningful burns through Sylvain, cutting him to his core, burning away at his restraint and any semblance of self-control that he’s shored up over the years. Endless promises over the years, to both himself and to Ingrid, to behave better, to not inundate Felix with his selfish wishes, to let his younger friend find his own way, always broken, always shattered. He knows Felix better than this, cares for him too much to still fall to self-indulgent whims, and yet.

Sylvain lightly slings his arm across Felix’s shoulders, easy, practiced smile stretching widely over his face as he leads them toward Spintwitches Sporting Needs, resolutely ignoring the weary, half-joking snort that puffs its way out of Felix as he does so. This, at least, is safe, familiar, easy. 

* * *

“How’s ol’ Ingy been treating the team? I hear she’s been trying to put you up to help her teach the younger kids and getting you to practice your people skills by coaching the reserves,” Sylvain says, grinning toothily down at Felix. 

Felix gives a single-shouldered shrug, rolling his eyes. Sylvain laughs lightly. It seems Ingrid _ has _ been as successful as her letters have claimed. She’d hex him for the old childhood nickname, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. “I knew you had it in you! Look at you, becoming a regular team leader.”

Sylvain misses his own Quidditch days sometimes, but he still has his trusty broom and there’s always the Diagon Alley association team for casual games. He can’t afford any of the nicer equipment anyway, what with his refusal of his father’s offer of a position in his office at the Ministry and living off a paltry bookseller’s wages until his parents kick it and he gets his inheritance, though he certainly would never give up what he has for that stuffy Ministry job, the weight of his family’s expectations burdensome across his back, his parents evaluating his every move. In times when his mind is too noisy and his heart too useless, Sylvain has idly wondered why they won’t just disown him, but he supposes that it’s really not a surprise since Sylvain _ is _ the last wizard in an old Pureblood bloodline, Miklan long exiled from the family tree for his low magical ability, and his parents still holding out hope that he’ll spend his days breeding some proper Pureblood girl to pop out magical grandchildren. 

“They’re not so bad, I guess,” Felix says reluctantly. “Some of them could do to take practice more seriously rather than just trying to fly in circles around the pitch, but they’re decent kids.”

The twin smells of wood varnish and slightly stale air assault their noses as Sylvain drags the shop door open — Hogsmeade really is as old and rickety as ever, and nostalgia and irritation weigh him down in equal measures. Even as the reminders of his own Hogwarts days buoy his spirits, the blatant, sluggish lack of progress in the magical world pricks at his consciousness. Claude’s stories of Muggle wonders had never ceased to fascinate him; the ancient, tired, Pureblood-centric wizarding traditions have long worn thin, the blatant holes in their stagnant society ugly patchwork barely holding itself together. 

Felix wanders through familiar aisles, Sylvain trailing him, cataloging every pause and subconscious head-tilt. He’d arrived prepared, of course, for Felix’s birthday next week, gift tucked away under the layers of his robes and cloak, but he’s ready to buy anything and everything that catches Felix’s fancy during their day meandering through town, determined as he is to shower Felix in love in any way he can. His purse stands rather lighter than he’d like, the coin he’s carefully saved for this day woefully insufficient and a paltry offering next to everything Felix deserves, but it’s all he has.

Sylvain bites back the obvious jibe when Felix pauses briefly in front of the broom handle polishes, snickering slightly to himself. Still, Felix knows him too well and he throws Sylvain an unamused look, ears tinged pink, the dirty joke ringing through the quiet of the shop between them. Not that Sylvain offering to help Felix polish his broomstick would be anything but a straightforward, serious offer, but he doubts Felix has prior experience with sex and knows that Felix would not take lightly to being propositioned in a dusty sports supplies store. 

Okay, no. No no no. 

Sylvain cannot allow himself to get horny right now — well, more horny than his baseline state of always wanting sex — and ruin the date (is he even allowed to call it that if he’s not sure Felix thinks it’s a date?) when it has only just begun. He scans the nearest shelf, desperate for a distraction before his mind can chase down lascivious thoughts of smearing Felix’s painstaking makeup or mussing his tamed and carefully-draped hair, quickly grabbing a pair of soft leather gauntlets, meant more for Beaters than Seekers but Quidditch-adjacent enough to get Felix talking.

“What do you think of these?” Sylvain asks, waving the gloves. 

Felix frowns as he examines them, taking them from Sylvain, calluses leaving tingling trails of fire in their wake as they brush against the back of Sylvain’s hand. He turns them over in his palms, weighing them with a somber demeanor, the space between his eyebrows creasing adorably. Felix hasn’t noticed, but they’re standing less than a pace apart again, and Sylvain has to once again shove down the urge to softly kiss away the concentration, to wrap Felix in his arms, to take smaller, colder hands and warm them in his own. 

“The construction’s okay, but could be better.” Felix glances up and offers a half-hearted shrug. “I wouldn’t buy them, though, even for a Beater. The wearing on the fingertips says these are second-hand despite the good leather quality, and there’s no sizing adjustment. The stitching is a bit worn, and I’d want more or less support in the padding depending on which player is to wear these. Not a bad deal if they were, say, twelve Sickles, but almost three Galleons is a ripoff.”

The shop’s proprietor gives them a glower and loud throat-clearing cough through the otherwise-empty shop at Felix’s assessment. Before Felix’s arm can fully rise to shoulder height to throw the shopkeeper a rude hand gesture, Sylvain quickly grabs the gloves back to throw into their designated shelf space and drops a hand to pull at Felix’s wrist, letting the arm restraining Felix’s rest heavily. He sends a carefully crafted, sheepish smile toward the register as he hastens his way to the exit, hauling Felix along behind him before they can anger the staff any further. 

Sylvain lets out a heavy breath as he pauses to recollect himself, gentle tinkle of the door’s bell eschewing the tenseness of the moment.

So date spot #1 is a complete bust. 

Admittedly, Sylvain had walked them straight into getting kicked out by inviting Felix to bluntly and analytically comment on the stores’ wares in earshot of the owner. Grabbing a near-random item off the shelf had only somewhat done its job of making him think of something other than wanting to kiss Felix, but had the bonus effect of angering a shopkeep, so here they were again, out in the cold, snowy street. 

Luckily, Sylvain had expected to be ejected from at least one shop (Felix’s fault) or pub (his own), though this particular incident was rather earlier in the day than he’d anticipated. Even as children, Sylvain and Felix had been precocious in all the wrong ways, too boisterous and too willing to seek out trouble, neither of them particularly well-behaved; without Ingrid to chastise and contain them, they inescapably found themselves in the ire of some authority figure or other. 

With a fond sigh, Sylvain sets off toward their next destination. Behind him, Felix clears his throat pointedly and tugs at the wrist still held in Sylvain’s grasp, clearly more bothered by the contact than Sylvain. Sylvain blinks, guiltily releasing his grip to run his hand through his hair, laughing awkwarding as Felix absently rubs away the feeling of Sylvain’s hand on his. 

“Sorry, sorry! My bad.”

He honestly hadn’t noticed that he was still holding on to Felix, though the cold air biting at Sylvain’s palm belies the valiant self-deception that he does not mind letting Felix go.

Sylvain quickly drops his hand, nodding his head down the street toward their next destination. 

“There’s a new cafe opening up at the end of the road. I’ve heard they have cats? Apparently they got the idea from Muggles and it’s a trend now in the Muggle world to open ‘cat cafes’.” Sylvain grimaces slightly at the idea of being overrun with cats, their sharp, tiny claws digging into his legs and arms, their whiny meows dissonant and cacophonous. They’re… okay? But playing with cats is definitely more Felix’s thing. “The owner’s a Muggleborn, so…”

Felix grunts his assent. He’s not looking at Sylvain, but the corners of his lips are turned up anyway, just the mention of spending time among his feline brethren enough to raise Felix’s spirits. If only Sylvain’s presence could have the same balmy effect.

Resisting the urge to ruffle Felix’s hair or pull him in once more, Sylvain offers him a small smile and amiable shrug before turning toward their next destination.

* * *

As much as Sylain is — ow, his hand is _ not _ a chew toy for teething kittens — not especially enjoying being bullied by a small mountain of furry cretins, it’s almost worth the biting and the outrageous price tag on the butterbeer to be able to see Felix this relaxed and content, persistent frown faded and irascible expression eased, one hand fondly stroking the quietly snoozing tabby that found its way into his lap. Though Sylvain’s sure he’ll deny it, Felix has even let out a few delighted chuckles when the cats chase the toys he tantalizingly dangles in front of them. 

Circe, what Sylvain wouldn’t give for a camera right now. Especially a small, compact Muggle one, perfect for taking surreptitious photographs of one particular sullen, dark-haired Gryffindor. It might be harder to develop a Muggle photograph into a typical moving picture, especially one of the digital whatits that Claude’s always going on about, but Sylvain’s not picky about what he’ll use to capture this perfect, picturesque moment.

Sylvain gently (but not that gently) shoves back a black kitten clambering up his leg as he scoots closer to Felix. It meows at him, frustratingly needy, and Felix throws him a disappointed frown before offering the kitten a hand to nibble on. Sylvain gives the kitten a dirty look. Stupid cat, stealing Felix’s affection. It blinks at him, reeking of faux-innocence, and Sylvain quashes the urge to _ Stupify _ the damn thing so it’ll get off Felix.

Felix’s knee knocks gently against Sylvain’s, breaking him out of his inadvertent staring contest with the small, whiskered menace. Felix flashes him a brief smile before returning his attention to tickling the chin of yet another calico that has found its way into leaning against his leg.

Merlin, what is Sylvain doing? Has he really sunk so low that he’s getting jealous of a _ cat _ of all things?

The spike of irritation of flashes that through him as Felix leans in to rub noses with a feisty Persian confirms that, yes, Sylvain has become so petty as to be envious of the attention that Felix gives even animals. Ah, the obligatory struggle of being in love with Felix, noted human-hater and cat-adorer, only ever to watch as his beloved showers affection onto undeserving feline pests and receiving none in turn. 

Sylvain supposes he’s being a bit dramatic; they’re not _ together_, whatever his traitorous heart might want. And… it’s nice to see Felix being this cute, even if saying it aloud will probably earn him a silent Leg-Locker Curse, if not something worse. Not that Sylvain doesn’t enjoy letting Felix show off his impressive knowledge of curses and hexes, but he infinitely prefers when they’re not turned on him.

“It likes you, huh?” Sylvain says, gesturing to the cat that’s claimed Felix’s lap as its own. 

Felix smiles softly down at it. Oh, what Sylvain wouldn’t give to be that cat right now. “Yeah, guess she does.”

The tabby in Felix’s lap finally wakes, stretching itself (herself?) and kneading tiny paws into Felix’s thigh, purring pleasantly as it does so. The beast is almost lovable this way, singularly focused on its meaningless task. Sylvain’s hand stretches forward unbidden, twitching toward the temptation to pet the fuzzy nuisance. 

Felix glances at his suspended hand, poised to disrupt the cat in its work, and lets out an amused snort before gently guiding Sylvain’s palm to the cat’s nose, allowing it to smell the new person. Sylvain’s heart jumps to this throat, hammering, skin on fire where Felix’s hand meets his.

The tabby sniffs curiously for a moment and offers a cautious lick before deciding Sylvain isn’t worth the trouble and returning to its work, rhythmically pushing its paws into Felix’s leg, left right left right, back and forth, over and over. Felix guides Sylvain’s hand away, letting the cat continue as it pleases. He chances a look up at Sylvain, and —

_ Shit_, when did Felix get so close? Or rather, when did he lean that far in toward Felix?

Eyes widening, pretty blush slowly creeping over his cheeks, Felix looks good enough to devour, and Sylvain’s self-control rapidly dissolves into nothing when Felix’s gaze darts down to his mouth. Merlin and Morgana, his desire for Felix is going to kill him, and much sooner than he thought.

Sylvain gently strokes Felix’s cheek with his unclasped hand, enjoying the light shudder that echoes through Felix. He winds his hand gently around Felix’s neck, pulling him in to finally, _ finally _ —

Ow, _ fuck_! 

Their foreheads smack together with a loud _ clonk! _ as Sylvain gasps at the tiny pinpricks of pain emanating from his right thigh. The offending black kitten offers him a demanding _ mew_, pawing insistently at his leg now that it’s retracted its claws. Sylvain barely represses the urge to strangle the damned thing, fingers flexing angrily as he struggles to control them. 

A garbled, exhilarated snort cuts across Sylvain’s irritation. He blinks. Felix has his hand raised, covering his mouth, as gasping peals of laughter escape him. Sylvain doesn’t really get what’s so funny, but anything that gets Felix to laugh is a good thing. Felix’s uncontrollable laughter quietly saps away Sylvain’s frustration and annoyance at the kitten, and he lets himself be content to sit on his haunches and let Felix laugh himself out, even going so far as to offer the obnoxious, nagging creature a light scratch behind the ears. Its quiet purring response resonates through his hand when where it lays.

Well, if he has to look at the bright side, he supposes Felix probably would have been upset by the very public kiss once he’d regained his bearings. Small consolation, but at least Sylvain still has all his limbs attached. The laughter’s nice too.

There’s a light cough behind him and a gentle tap on his shoulder as Felix finally winds down. “Excuse me, your time is up. Please make your way to the exit so other patrons can have some time with the cats.”

“Sure thing, we’ll get out of your hair,” Sylvain says, flashing the attendant a quick, luminescent smile and a practiced wink as he stands, reveling in the faint blush that spreads across her cheeks. Never fails. 

There’s a faint, aggravated click of a tongue behind him. Sylvain’s blood freezes. Felix’s frown is back, mirth gone, his usual anger at Sylvain’s flirtatious nature bubbled back to the surface. Shame sinks heavily into Sylvain’s bones as the weight of what he’d reflexively done hits him, the desire for the floor to swallow him or the heavens to smite him for his idiocy overtakes him. He wouldn’t mind if Felix cursed him, here and now, as retribution for his actions. _ Stupid_. 

As ever, Sylvain takes a good thing and fucks it up, hurting the people he cares about in the process.

Still, he offers a sheepish hand to help Felix up, waiting as he finishes removing the various cats draped across his body, expression a perfectly harmonized mix of melancholy at having to part with the cats and annoyance at Sylvain. The little demons cry pathetically for Felix’s affection as if they hadn’t ruined a perfectly good romantic mood and Sylvain can almost empathize. Almost. 

Felix looks at Sylvain’s hand consideringly, and the creeping sensation that he’s about to experience immense regret crawls up Sylvain’s spine. Well, too late now if Felix wants to set him on fire, his hand is already out there. 

Felix sighs and grasps Sylvain’s hand, allowing himself to be dragged to his feet. Hope crawls back into Sylvain’s heart as he watches Felix, rumpled from where the cats had played too much with his cloak and robes, his hand warm in Sylvain’s own. Sylvain doesn’t know what to do with the emotion welling in his chest, determinedly beating as his rib cage, desperate to break out and let him maul Felix.

Sylvain isn’t sure how much time passes before the attendant coughs again, very pointedly, gesturing toward the exit. 

He starts, running his spare hand through his hair sheepishly. Whoops, got distracted (though understandably so, he’d like to think, what with how beautiful Felix is). 

Sylvain offers her a friendly wave as he pulls Felix away from the cats, adjusting their hands to intertwine their fingers, letting his friend stare forlornly behind them at the little monsters they’re leaving behind.

For once, Felix makes no move to shake Sylvain off. 

* * *

Felix pulls him back, grip tightening where their hands are still entwined, fingers frozen in place from the chill. Sylvain hadn’t dared to tuck their hands into his cloak pocket for fear of drawing attention to the hold and scaring Felix off. He pauses as he reaches for the door leading into the Three Broomsticks pub. Sylvain hadn’t intended to end up here for another hour or two, a nice last stop to warm themselves with light liquor before heading home for the night, but Felix had ignored all his other suggestions.

Felix coughs awkwardly, hiding his face again behind his hand, mumbling unintelligibly as his face flushes, the flush crawling up his neck towards the tips of his ears. 

“Gonna have to speak up, bud,” Sylvain says, not bothering to hide his amusement. “I’m pretty good at translating Felix-speak, but not that good. Have to be able to hear what you’re saying.”

Sylvain waits as Felix chews over his words, picking them carefully as though they won’t burst out of him in some angry order anyway. Sylvain’s unoccupied hand finds its way into the loose end of Felix’s ponytail, his fingers fiddling nonsensically with the silken locks. 

It really is a nice look for Felix. Sylvain gets the utility of the messy bun, but he wouldn’t say no to Felix’s hair to always be like this instead, tamed and styled every day. Or maybe even fully down, soft wavy tresses cascading onto his shoulders and gently framing his face. Merlin, he hasn’t seen Felix with his hair fully down since they were children. 

Maybe if Felix is in a good mood at the end of the date Sylvain can convince him to give up the ribbon and he’ll get to see his hair down that way.

Felix clears his throat, gaze caught on where Sylvain’s hand is still idly twirling his hair. “I was saying… I have something to tell you.” 

Sylvain quirks an eyebrow. The timing is a little strange, posed as they are outside the busiest establishment in Hogsmeade, the chattering crowds bustling in and out behind them. Still, Sylvain has never turned down any time that Felix has wanted to talk and he’s not about to start now.

“Sure, what’s up?” Sylvain can only hope that it isn’t something to chastise him, but given the way their day has gone so far… he’s not despondent about his odds. Despite certain blips, Sylvain would like to think that the date has so far been a resounding success. He might not have managed to pick up a secondary gift for Felix, and the box he’d been handed is still rustling gently in his pocket, but they’ve enjoyed each others’ company and avoided any serious disagreements.

Well, until now, possibly.

Felix huffs, snapping Sylvain back into the moment.

“I… that is, I don’t think you’re hopeless.” Felix flushes to full brightness. 

“I, er… thanks? I think?” Sylvain isn’t sure where this is coming from, but it’s a compliment. Sort of? Well, as much as Felix is really capable of.

“I — no! I mean, I think I might…” Felix’s voice drops to a whisper, his last words muted and hidden. 

Sylvain gives him a puzzled grin. “Didn’t hear what you said, but I think it was something nice?”

“I said, I have feelings for you, dumbass!” Felix shouts. The couple exiting the Three Broomsticks startles, tripping over the threshold, clattering loudly behind Sylvain.

Sylvain freezes. He definitely didn’t hear that right. Felix, admitting to emotion? He’s hoped for those words (well, approximately those words) for so long and now that he’s heard them, he has no idea what to do. 

Felix shakes slightly, ripping his hand back from Sylvain’s. “That’s all. I don’t need your pity or anything, I just… I don’t know, the day was going really well, there was that moment at the cat cafe where I thought you were going to kiss me… and I promised Ingrid that I’d tell you. She’s been saying for… I don’t even know how long, years? …that you feel the same way and I guess I got my hopes up. For nothing.” 

It’s as Felix is stepping away that Sylvain’s brain finally kicks into gear, recognizing the gravity of the situation. If he misses his chance now, he’ll never have another one. 

Sylvain collapses into Felix as he hauls the smaller into a desperate hug, chest aching and heart overflowing with unnameable emotion. Merlin, he’s waited so long for this day. _ Fuck_, he’s a disaster and he loves Felix so much it’s going to make him melt on the spot.

“Don’t go! Don’t leave.” Sylvain slowly turns Felix back around to face him, hands clasping desperately to his shoulders, digging in with enough strength that he might have to apologize for bruises later. 

He crushes Felix into his chest, whispers adoring nonsense to him, promises of all the love he wishes he could have properly given him in the past.

Sylvain’s next words are suspiciously choked and wet. 

“I love you, too, Fe. Ingy’s right, she always is. I’ve loved you for so long.” Sylvain presses a desperate kiss to the side of Felix’s head. “Been waiting so long for you to catch up to me. _ Merlin _, it’s been so long, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Felix splutters slightly. “But — all the girls?” 

“They never meant anything, just a distraction, just what my parents wanted. You know that. I’ve never wanted them.” Sylvain lets out a heaving, joyful laugh, tears straining his voice. “It’s always been you. Always, no matter what.” 

Sylvain leans back, bringing his hands up to cup Felix’s face, eyes wide and wet, cheeks blazing, awe and elation etched into every feature. “Can I kiss you now? Merlin, please say yes, please say yes, I’ve waited way too long for this.” 

Felix’s eyes dart down to his lips. 

“Shut up,” Felix mutters disparagingly, dragging Sylvain down into him. It’s a little painful and the angle isn’t great, noses squished against each other and teeth clacking, and Felix, bless his soul, biting enthusiastically and way too hard. He tastes salt, and he honestly can’t tell if the tears are coming from him or Felix. It’s perfect anyway. Pain, crying, and all, it’s everything Sylvain has ever dreamed of. He wants to taste every part of Felix, eat up everything that he has to offer.

Sylvain slows the kiss down, tilting his head and pulling back to press less insistently against Felix’s lips, heart singing when Felix lets out a quiet whimper. Their lips move in tandem, slightly out of rhythm with one another, but a beautiful melody nonetheless.

A heavy sense of loss fills Sylvain when Felix finally pulls back to catch his breath. Sylvain’s hands had unsurprisingly made their way into Felix’s hair and destroyed the ponytail, the ribbon fully tangled in Sylvain’s fingers, his wish to see Felix’s fully down almost realized. Felix’s makeup, too, is a glorious mess, lip tint smudged and eyeliner running down into the corners of his eyes. Merlin and Morgana, Felix is beautiful.

Even with kiss-bitten lips and the girls’ hard work completely wrecked, Felix is magnificent. If there weren’t snow still on the ground, Sylvain would drop to his knees to worship him. Well, he supposes he’ll just have to settle for showering Felix’s face with loving kisses and adoring words instead. Pity.

A loud catcall echoes behind them, jolting them. “Oi, get a room!” 

Ingrid’s grin is beyond victorious, positively devilish, as she teases them. The rest of their friends laugh uncomfortably, not quite willing to acknowledge the scene they’d just witnessed.

Circe, Ingrid and Dimitri truly have the worst timing. 

Felix throws her a rude hand gesture as Sylvain laughs, waving lightly. 

Ingrid offers the door to the pub open to them, eyes sharp and knowing, and Sylvain follows with a shrug. He supposes they owe her a lot. 

Felix’s smile is soft as he takes Sylvain’s hand in his, gently lacing their fingers together, the first time in many, many that he had reached first for Sylvain rather than the other way around. Wonder fills Sylvain’s chest, delirious delight beating erratically from his heart, his eyes wet once more with tears of joy.

The days waiting for Felix may have been bleak and monotonous, and the months until Felix graduates will be trying as he mopes in their separation, but Sylvain’s heart has never quite been as full as it is now. 

They have all the time in the world together. Sylvain can’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter count got bumped because there are a few loose ends I'd like to tie up, and what better way to do that than with a short epilogue from Dimitri's perspective, to round out the quartet? I'm planning on having it posted tomorrow or the day after.
> 
> **q:** Where are Dedue and Mercedes?  
**a:** Old and graduated, just like Sylvain. 
> 
> **q:** What happened to the non-BL characters?  
**a:** They exist! I just didn't include them here. If I do more in this AU, I'll include a reference sheet with people's blood statuses and Hogwarts houses. 
> 
> If you have other burning questions, idk hit me up in the comments? Thanks for reading!


	4. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka, they're disgusting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just 1k words of Dimitri side-eyeing Sylvain for PDA.

“They’re disgusting,” Ingrid says as she shovels down another forkful of her chicken pot pie, voice muffled and fondly irritated around the bite. 

Dimitri chances a glance to the other end of their table. Sylvain's egging Felix into feeding him another slightly-battered chocolate, gaze bright and mischievous as he pulls Felix’s cacao-covered hand into his mouth, lighting licking around Felix’s fingers as he lets go. Flushed bright and cherry-red, Felix lightly smacks his now-boyfriend, looking about two seconds away from smashing the remaining box into Sylvain’s face in his embarrassment. 

It's probably not especially sanitary to eat food directly from another person’s hands, but “disgusting” is a bit of a stretch, especially in the Three Broomsticks as opposed to, say, The Hog’s Head. The Three Broomsticks is a charming establishment, fairly dustless as far as Dimitri has seen of wizarding pubs, with kind staff and familiar food. 

Unless Ingrid means their public affection, in which case, Dimitri wholeheartedly agrees. But, unfortunately for all of them, that much is to be expected given Sylvain’s proclivity toward flirting and total lack of shame.

“They’re cute, right?”

Annette clearly has a different measure of “cute” than the rest of them, because Ingrid snorts and Ashe offers her a queasy smile, very unsubtly scooting his chair further away from Sylvain, who is now very avidly trying to feed Felix with zero success. Sylvain, if he notices, chooses not to comment on the action, far too wrapped up in gazing adoringly at Felix and rather insistently trying to shove a chocolate into his face.

For his part, Dimitri pointedly avoids looking at the happy couple, wishing he could blind his right eye so that even his peripherals wouldn't have to catch any of Sylvain’s atrocities, choosing instead to calmly and deliberately take another draft of his butterbeer. Very evenly, without even a tremor of irritation, and carefully drowning out his friend’s inane chatter.

Though, Dimitri thinks, he does have to say that Felix is taking this surprisingly well. Had anyone else tried to lick his hand or force-feed him, they would have found themself cursed and possibly short a couple limbs. Perhaps it's Sylvain’s outgoing and carefree nature that's simply rubbing off on Felix, helping him to finally open up and relax a bit.

(Sylvain would probably say that Dimitri could also do to “blow off some steam”, likely with an overdone wink and heavy dose of innuendo. That's neither here nor there, and he would greatly appreciate if Sylvain could politely butt out of trying to set up his love life.)

Sylvain lets out a loud yelp, startling Dimitri and the others from where they had been pointedly staring into their food and drink. Whatever Sylvain did to make Felix hit or hex him, Dimitri's sure he deserved the retaliation. He actually wouldn't be opposed to dueling some sense into Sylvain himself. Ingrid’s mistake was inviting those two to join them in the pub, far too optimistic about Sylvain’s ability to behave himself and much too eager to pry into their budding relationship. 

“Are you all right, Sylvain?” Dimitri asks, carefully polite. He may be exasperated with Sylvain’s poor conduct, but he's still concerned for the wellbeing of his friend and should intercede before Felix murders him. 

Probably.

“Fine, fine! Felix is just being a bit feisty, aren’t you sweetheart?” 

Felix kicks Sylvain under the table, eliciting another whimper of pain. Apparently the two of them have already devolved to Muggle violence.

“I said, don’t call me that!” 

“Aw, but the way you blush is so cute!”

Aggravated by their bickering, Ingrid sighs, fingers twitching noticeably toward her wand. “Can you two behave yourselves for once? You’re not the only people here, and you’re putting me off perfectly good food. I’m not afraid to Silence you, Sylvain.”

Dimitri nods. “I'm quite inclined to agree with Ingrid. I am aware that this is the first chance you have had to see each other in quite a while, and I'm sure your date earlier went quite well, but please, for the sake of everyone here, contain yourselves. Felix, I know you have better self-control than this.”

Felix makes an affronted noise. “Wha — ! It’s his fucking fault, not mine!” 

“I'm aware, but as you are the one more likely to see reason, I am asking you. Please, for all our sakes, stop letting Sylvain do whatever he pleases.”

Sylvain winks, acknowledging the implicit slight. Felix looks thunderous.

“And you’re scaring Ashe,” Ingrid adds.

“Ah, don’t worry about me!” Ashe frantically waves his hands, unwilling to inconvenience any of his friends for his well-being. 

“As I said, you’re scaring Ashe,” Ingrid repeats, ignoring his interjection.

There’s an awkward pause as everyone stares at Sylvain, intentionally oblivious to all criticism, blankly staring up at the ceiling, impish grin belying his feigned innocence.

Felix kicks Sylvain again.

“Okay, okay! I’ll behave.” 

There’s a peaceful beat before Sylvain fumbles his cloak, drawing out a thin, wrapped parcel. 

“Almost forgot because I got distracted by the chocolate.” He presses the package into Felix’s hands. “I know it’s still almost a week, but since I won’t see you then… Happy Birthday, Fe.”

Felix blinks, as though stunned that Sylvain would remember his birthday or bother to come prepared for it to their date, mouth gaping slightly as he fumbles the wrapping. Thankfully, they all know better than to comment on Felix’s stumble, even Sylvain.

First the string, then the parchment, layer by layer, the crumpled bundle unravels in faintly trembling hands. Sylvain’s expression is disturbingly fond and affectionate — almost raw and painful to even look at — as he watches Felix draw closer and closer, piece by piece, to finally unearthing his birthday present. 

The last layer falls, revealing a carefully crafted wand holster, lovingly engraved with Felix’s initials,  _ FHF _ carved to rest above the wrist, etched into the leather in ornate script. It is not the most practical gift in most senses of the word; Felix already owns endless dueling equipment, all well-maintained, much of it grandly displayed in their shared dorm (much to the chagrin of the other Gryffindor seventh-years who would like to use their shared wall and floor space, thank you Felix), but a fitting present nonetheless.

A single glance at Felix’s face says that he already loves it very much, quite possibly placing the holster as a new favored piece of equipment. 

Sylvain holds out his hands, silently offering to help Felix tighten the straps.

Felix, instead, reaches across the table and drags Sylvain’s face into his, much to the collective shock (and revulsion) of all those seated at the table. Ingrid audibly gags across from Dimitri.

Dimitri isn’t sure what Sylvain whispers next, but it makes Felix blush once more before loudly smacking him on the arm.

No, Dimitri decides. Ingrid is right. If Felix and Sylvain were frustrating before, as a couple they are absolutely appalling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is done!! Like, no more chapter extensions, fic-fully-completed-except-maybe-grammar-cleanup done.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this silly work, I really hope you all enjoyed it!
> 
> You can retweet this fic [here](https://twitter.com/euphemeas/status/1197386072294150144)! I finally caved to making a fandom twitter ([@euphemeas](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)).


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